The Woman in the Dales
by Hannah-AngelOfMusic
Summary: Heathcliff, Cathy, and the land they love.


"Cathy!"

She turned as I called her name, her hair flying across her face as she stood on the cliff. She looked at me as if she did not know me, but I knew it was her way of teasing me. It near broke my heart, and she was aware of it. She was aware of all things that could control me.

She finally broke her stare and smiled, and I ran to her, my thick, wide hands at the base of her neck, in her mountains of hair, on her sun-browned skin. Her dark eyes assessed mine as I touched my lips to hers. She laughed as I moved my hands to her waist, and she wriggled free. My forehead creased as I tensed to ask what I had done, but she put her fingers to her lips.

She turned away, her eyes across the Moors. The wind was up, it played with her clothes and the thicket and the water on the marshes, and they were one. Cathy closed her eyes to it, her breath and the whoosh of the wind in unity, and she turned back to me. To Cathy, I was the Moors. I was her wild and untamed thing. I was home. And I would be anything she wished me to be, should she have me.

She walked towards me, stopping inches away, her fingers barely touching my own as I held them up to her. The wind blew her scarf, and she sighed deeply, feeling the uncontrolled nature of this land, this desire and longing and life rooted in the ground for her to enjoy and despair at. At length, Cathy bridged the gap and placed her mouth on mine, pulling away only when I began to respond.

"Remember my dreams, Heathcliff?" She did not look at me this time; she instead stared out across the horizon, beyond the cliff we stood on together. "Remember Heaven? And Wuthering Heights, and how I would always be happy as long as we're one?"

I said nothing, only nodded desperately, fearing her point. A tiny tear ran from the corner of my eye, and she kissed it lightly, closing her eyes and breathing in my scent. I wrapped my arms around her, moaning with grief as she pushed away. I let her go, and she smiled again, teasingly, wickedly.

"Be one with me then, Heathcliff. Fly with me." She flashed her brilliant smile and ran from me, towards the edge of the cliff. It was all I could do to scream "Cathy!"

But she had already pushed off from the rock, a heart wrenching cry of delight echoing from her core and a whoosh of the wind as she gave herself over to it.

I awoke with a scream and fell from my bed, scrambling at the floor where Cathy fell. I looked up to see her in the doorway, and shouted for her nephew Hareton and daughter Catherine to leave me. She walked away slowly and closed the door. I saw her above the mantelpiece; her stern gaze scolding me for being out of my wits, and I threw her onto the fire. I saw her in her name that she had etched out on my bed, and I cried into my twisted bed sheets until my eyes were red and swollen for weeping. I heard her whisper to me through the window.

I heard her message, her plea to me echo through the years, and I dressed.

There she was. In her clothes and the thicket and the marsh on the Moors. She was everywhere, and I lay with her. "Oh, Cathy," I whispered, grabbing fistfuls of Earth and smearing it on my clothes and cheeks, my tongue darting out to taste her. "Oh, my Heart's darling. I have missed you."

"Be one with me, Heathcliff. Fly with me." Her voice rang out through the wild bushes, sung out on the lake, and I turned to her shimmering form. I saw her glistening there, her dark eyes piercing mine, her hair twisting in the winter winds.

I waded in knee deep, into the dark marsh. The marsh was clear, and not full of mud, and there she was standing, with her teasing smile and icy stare, her hand held out to mine. I pushed towards her, grabbing her hand after all these years, and I went to kiss her. Her finger went to her lip, in her wicked way, and she crouched low, her neck enveloped in water.

She pulled me down too, so the ends of my long hair floated about me. She then placed her lips on mine gently, and moved hers to my ear. "One with me and the land, Heathcliff. We will walk these Moors together. My love is, and always will be, in these rocks, as is yours."

I nodded resolutely, and she wrapped her arms around my neck, her lips on mine stronger now. We fell deep down into the marsh, and my chains of the world, my gypsy body, bobbed back up.


End file.
